


To Kill

by nandonman



Series: Destroy Me [3]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Dissociation, Gen, Mental Illness, Murder, O captain my captain, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandonman/pseuds/nandonman
Summary: He wanted release. He wanted a thrill. He's laughing at you. He's wanting to kill.
Series: Destroy Me [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679794
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	To Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: depression, murderous thoughts, no guilt

It was 12:45 a.m.

Josh supposed it was a new day, right? Midnight marks a new day, and so he won't be ruining the anniversary if he lets out a little steam. He knew there were a few thoughts fighting for dominance in his head. May as well pick them apart.

An hour ago, Josh had had his pals over for the anniversary of . . . a lot of things, really. It was a good experience. Then one thing led to another, and . . . well, Josh was really good at fucking up, wasn't he?

Josh chuckled to himself at the thought as he started to fold the laundry that had been waiting for days on his desk. Part of him soothed into recalling the events prior--the way Mike and him had kissed. When Mike kissed back. When Mike realized what he was doing. When Josh kicked him out.

Hm. It was all very . . . plain, actively thinking back on it.

And so Josh searched for something more pleasant to remember.

A dull buzzing began in the back of his mind as he remained perfectly calm and brought up a memory of a few years back. Overalls and a silly mask.  
And oh the p o w e r he felt then.

Josh gave the pants in his hand a good smack and laughed to himself. "Shit, man. I'm nutso."

Saying it out loud made him feel good. Because although most of the time he felt regret--he did, right? Oh well. Not like he would remember in this state--right then, he just felt alive. Part of him wanted to become the psycho again, to play out the guy just waiting behind his chest. But he wouldn't involve his friends--no, definitely not. But it couldn't hurt to get rid of someone who deserved it, right? Or maybe someone whose life was already coming to an end . . .

Josh shook the thought from his head. There was no way that was healthy.

He put the pair of pants in his drawer and returned for a flannel--black and blue, like the moonlight streaming into his room. He tried to focus on those colors. On some sort of vibrancy, some sort of care for the world around him.

But that only brought him to his next emotional flash to the past. This time, it was of his time spent in residential.

And out of all the things that could have made Josh cry--the murder fantasies, Mike, the anniversary--it was remembering the people he'd left behind that nearly did him in. He felt his eyes water as he pictured them--three men and a woman, and recalled their names individually, images of their faces appearing in his head. They were the people who truly understood. Who made Josh feel so valid and so normal and so right. And so, with a painful sink of his chest, Josh realized. He missed them.

He missed the way they would joke about removing the face of the nurse who always bossed them around. He missed sneaking snacks, and painting with those stupid finger paints. He even missed the goddamn baby shampoo.

What was it his therapist had said?

"People often miss the hospital. It was a safe space for many. And now you have to return to the real world."

Josh sighed. Real world his ass.

He scoffed and couldn't help the way his thoughts drifted back to unhealthier topics.

Josh hadn't told anybody, but sometimes he wished he could just be a murderer. He didn't know why he wanted this. Perhaps it was for the free housing in jail? Perhaps to feel powerful as he took someone's life? Perhaps to prove to himself and to everyone else that he was strong?--Or that he was horribly, truly, inescapably evil.

Yes. He was, wasn't he?

Josh thought back to Mike's widening eyes as he fell to the floor. Josh felt himself smile, although if anyone were in the room with him they would see only an empty gaze.

"Gotcha."

Josh couldn't help but laugh some more. Because goddamn, it was so funny, wasn't it? All this therapy, all these drugs, all the pain, and here he was. Just wishing he could be a little witty bit more evil. Just a touch to send him to the nearest lunatic playground, or to the personal hell of jail.

It was no less than he deserved, right?

Right.

Josh picked up the last article of clothing to be folded--boxers, of all things--and tossed it into the open drawer across the room. Then he stood tall, taking a deep breath.

"I know you're hiding back there, oh emotional response. Oh trauma oh trauma, wherefore art thou trauma?"

He walked to his bed and flopped down, removing his shirt and spreading his arms out wide. As if an afterthought, he was suddenly reminded of another "oh something oh something" quote, and he pointed at the ceiling when he spoke next, mock sorrow adorning his features.

"O humanity o humanity, o the bleeding drops of red, where somewhere far humanity lays, fallen cold and dead."

A pause. Then his hand flew back down to his side.

"Fucking nerd." He closed his eyes and groaned, wishing he had the strength to summon some sort of something into his brain. Anything other than this obvious avoidance.

Then an idea popped into his head.  
He walked over to his desk and pulled open the drawer, taking out his pocket knife and holding it up to his eyes.  
"Nice."

With that, he turned and faced the empty middle of his room, stepping forward. Silently, he moved through his next steps in his mind before following them through--pretending to slice at a man's neck, right there in the middle of his bedroom. He could see the blood, memories no doubt stolen from the copious amounts of pig blood he'd dealt with in his lifetime, spilling from his neck. A look of regret in the man's eyes for ever harming any of his friends. He'd kill that son of a bitch.

But still, the guilt had not sunk in.

Josh tried to think back to what had happened to cause this state, but it was as if there were a barrier separating him from his thoughts. All he received in return was a frustrated narrative.

Josh yawned.

"Well."

There was another moment of silence, and suddenly it was gone. The feelings(?) he had felt. The idealizing murder. The longing for the people he'd met. And instead, he just felt . . . tired.  
Maybe he could deal with this all in the morning. He had enough time. Probably.

And so he flopped right back onto his bed, not caring to do much more than kick off his jeans and settle into the welcoming grasp of his sheets.

"Goodnight, moon," he mumbled.  
And laughed.


End file.
